My father was a man of great dignity and a stern loving father. His ruling passion was for his children to fulfill their maximum potential, and for us to never measure our achievements against those of others.

My mother was the perfect minister’s wife. She cared for our family, attended the community’s sick and even wrote some of my father’s sermons. Over the years she developed cataracts over her eyes that clouded her vision. But this only seemed to strengthen her inner spiritual vision as that enabled her to increase the aura of warmth and comfort she gave to our home.

My father’s church was the largest of the three Black churches in Princeton by the turn of the century. It had an auditorium, a parish house and several other properties. My father had been credited for making improvements in church methods and property. He was said to be “ever the defender of justice—standing for the rights of our race.” It was also said of him that you could easier “move the Rock of Gibraltar” than you could move Rev. Robeson because he was made of flintstone. He was “unwilling to compromise on moral principles, even if it meant economic harm.”